Elegy For The Broken
by Magillicuddy
Summary: And then it hit him like a ton of bricks to the head. He took a step back from the suddenness of it, but he knew he was not wrong as he continued to stare at her. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be. And yet he knew it to be true. This wasn't just any Mudblood that he'd taken into his home. This woman, this girl, this Mudblood slave, was Hermione Granger.
1. Chapter One

**Notes:** So this story is one that I started a few years ago. I recently found it on my hard drive and decided to touch it up and continue on with it. It's going to be much darker than what I usually write, but I found it really fun to write. Reading it while listening to the soundtrack for _Deathly Hallows part 2_ will really set the tone for the story, as it was what I was listening to while working on it. I really hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

* * *

 _Chapter One_

It seemed even the sun couldn't bring itself to shine upon the dreary, desolate world anymore. A never-ending overhang of clouds blocked the sky from view, casting a gray shadow down upon the unfortunate residents of London. Most people no longer bothered to raise their heads to the sky. The fresh feeling of sunlight was quickly turning into a long forgotten memory.

Draco wished he could remember the sun. He wished he could remember feeling confident and carefree. He wished he could remember a time when his biggest worry was going a day without bullying the famous Harry Potter and his friends. But that felt so long ago that he often wondered whether it had all been a dream and he'd simply woken up as a twenty-seven year old Death Eater.

He knew the state that the Second Wizarding War had left the world. Most people wondered why they bothered trying to forage for food when they'd only end up going to bed hungry. A person could wind up with a broken nose just for fighting over a moldy piece of bread. And that was if he was lucky. Most times the streets were filled with the chorus of rumbling stomachs. Draco supposed it was better than the sobs of despair he usually was greeted with.

Even in the state of the war, Draco knew he was one of the lucky ones. He still had a home. It wasn't much, but being a Death Eater did have its perks. He might've had to lower himself to doing the cooking and cleaning himself, but he refused to lower himself to that of many of his colleagues and engage in the practice of owning a slave. Slavery had quickly become legal under Lord Voldemort's regime. Most of the slaves were Mudbloods and Muggles, as there was not much else they were fit to become. At least that was the stance Voldemort and his followers took in regards to their welfare. Draco knew he was often suspected of being a blood traitor because of his unusual stance on slavery, but he'd surprised even himself in his adamancy against them. It left him with no other choice but to do his own chores for the first time in his life, but it was the decision he'd made and so far he did not regret it.

This night was turning out just like any other night. He'd relieved Goyle over an hour ago, and now stood outside what had once been Flourish and Blotts, acting as sentry to the remains of Diagon Alley.

Not that there was much need anymore. Hardly anyone bothered to come here after Voldemort won the war. Hogwarts was only open to the children of two pureblooded parents, which eliminated most of the children. Only pureblooded wizards were even allowed to venture into Diagon Alley unaccompanied. Half-bloods needed permission from their local Death Eater representative, and Muggle-borns were not allowed at all. Those who were lucky enough to escape slavery had quickly gone into hiding after Harry Potter's body had been taken back to the castle as proof that he'd lost the duel against Voldemort in the forest. He remembered one foolish Mudblood who had tried soon after the war. He vaguely recalled seeing the boy at school, but had never bothered learning his name before, and had watched in silent disgust as two of his fellow Death Eaters had branded him with the letter 'M' on his right forearm and carted him off to wherever it was Mudblood slaves were taken upon capture.

He never brought up the pointlessness of patrolling Diagon Alley to the Dark Lord, though he'd wished to on more than one occasion. He knew his colleagues felt the same way, but there was little any of them could do. Most didn't even bother patrolling anymore and simply ventured into the Leaky Cauldron for a pint and only left when it was time for their shift to be taken over by someone else.

Draco was tempted to do just that, but he didn't want to get hammered so early into his shift. There would be plenty of time for that later. Instead he forced himself to patrol the streets, careful to keep his wand in full view of the street in case anyone tried to attack him. It was highly unlikely that he would, however. Only the most desperate would attack a Death Eater.

So far the only people in Diagon Alley were fellow purebloods. They all nodded once in acknowledgement when he passed them. No words were ever exchanged, which Draco preferred over mindless chatter. Though sometimes it only added to his loneliness. The only people who bothered to talk to him anymore were Crabbe and Goyle, and they'd never been good conversationalists.

Draco carried on, making sure he met the eye of those he passed. After a while he grew tired of his patrol, as he did every night, but he refused to lower himself to the Leaky Cauldron just yet. Somehow it just felt wrong to do so. He forced his legs to keep walking and tried to think about happier times.

Just as he circled back around Diagon Alley for the second time, he noticed something he hadn't before: a dead body. He blanched at the sight, but forced himself to investigate. This was, after all, his job.

Though impossible to tell just how long he'd been dead, Draco knew it hadn't been all that long considering the lack of decay. It was easy enough to tell the cause of death. His ribcage was clearly visible through his thin, pale skin and his face was hollow and shrunken in. Starvation marked its victims in the cruelest and foul way.

Draco sighed and transfigured the body into a pile of ashes, which he put into a vase he conjured up with his wand. He buried the body in a small patch of dirt near the vacated shop of Ollivander's and gave a quick thought to who the man might've been in another life. Maybe a Ministry worker. Maybe a Hogwarts professor. Whoever he was, he didn't deserve his fate. None of them did.

After giving himself a few minutes, he pushed all thought of the man out of his mind and decided that he deserved that drink from the Leaky Cauldron.

He walked in and paid no heed to the fear in the bartender's eyes as he ordered a butterbeer. He couldn't afford anything stronger while on patrol, and if the Dark Lord found out he'd abandoned his post for a drink he'd be in for much worse than a trip to the Headmaster's office.

He threw himself into a chair at a table in the far corner of the pub and tried to pretend he was anywhere else but where he found himself as he drank. What he'd give for a good old-fashioned bantering with Potter! He'd even settle for Weasley at this point, but he knew Weasley had died sometime after Potter.

The loneliness felt stifling. He honestly didn't know how he'd managed to go on for ten years like this. His miserable existence was one he shouldn't complain about, he knew, but was difficult when he saw the utter devastation all around him. If he was suffering in his position, he almost couldn't bear to think what those less fortunate than himself were feeling. At least at the end of the day he could go home and try to imagine himself somewhere else as he lay in his relatively comfortable bed. What were the half-bloods and Mudbloods doing? How were they getting on with no wand, no magic, and no prospect of a better future?

It was almost to dreary to imagine. Sometimes Draco thought that if he pinched himself hard enough he'd wake up back in his dormitory and find himself ten years younger with his whole future ahead of him still. Maybe he'd follow in his father's footsteps and join the Ministry of Magic. Or he'd become a Healer at St. Mungos. He'd never voiced this ambition to anyone, but he'd sometimes fancied himself as a Healer, helping people who couldn't help themselves. It was a noble ambition, and he knew that if his parents had ever found out about it, they'd drill that desire right out of him, but it had been fun to imagine that life sometimes.

Draco blinked, and was somewhat startled to find himself at the Leaky Cauldron. He'd let himself go back to his childhood imaginings for a moment and had almost believed he was back in that time. How foolish. He felt wetness start to prick the backs of his eyes, but he furiously rubbed it away. _Stupid man, letting yourself get emotional!_ He chided himself. At least no one had been around to witness his moment of weakness.

He finished his butterbeer and considered going back for a second, but thought better of it. He couldn't risk getting lost in thought again in case a senior Death Eater decided to check up on him. It was rare, but it happened, especially with the rumors about him becoming a blood traitor. He couldn't afford to let that happen.

He left his empty mug on the table he vacated and proceeded to leave out of the back entrance. Let the bartender go on thinking he was still inside the building. His fear would keep him out of trouble, as well as out of Draco's sight.

He found himself in a small, narrow alley. An empty dumpster sat at the end, picked over from the desperate people looking for any scrap of food they could get their hands on. The discarded wrappers and empty cups were clear indicators of the last visitors the dumpster had received. Draco began to walk again, wanting to be out of the alley in case more vagrants showed up, but he became distracted when a flutter of movement caught his eye.

Draco turned around, but saw no one. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Was he seeing things now? Annoyed, he turned back around and began moving again. It was probably just a group of people trying to hide from the Death Eater in their midst. He had no desire to corner them if he didn't have to.

For a moment the alley was quiet, but then he heard the movement again. He whipped back around, his eyes scanning the area carefully before finally settling on a small silhouette which was trying to hide behind the dumpster. As he turned around, the silhouette coughed. It was a soft cough, as though the person behind it had been trying to stifle it. It was the complete helplessness of that cough that prevented Draco from moving.

Though impossible to know for certain, the cough had sounded female. Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a woman alone in a deserted alley. In his experience it only led to trouble. Most girls knew better than to venture out alone in this world, or at least he thought they had until now. What was she doing out here alone?

He knew he should keep moving. He was a Death Eater, and if it was found out that he'd left his post he would get the Cruciatus Curse for sure. There was just something about that cough that stopped him. It was so pathetic, so helpless, as though whoever had made it had given up on life and was simply waiting for the inevitable. Cursing his bleeding heart, Draco turned and ventured back into the alley.

Draco tried keeping his steps as quiet as possible, but he knew he'd been noticed when the person hiding behind the dumpster let out a frightened whimper. Shit. He'd been spotted.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Draco said softly, or at least as softly as he could with his rough voice. It had been a while since he'd last spoken.

No answer.

Draco took another cautious step forward. He could hear the person behind the dumpster shift as he did so, as though trying to get as far from him as possible in her limited space. As he approached the dumpster, he turned a cautious head around to peer behind the dumpster.

The sight that greeted him nearly tore his heart in two.

The girl's long, tangled dark hair hid her face from view, but he could tell she was young, at least his age if not younger. Her body, from his limited view of it, was frail and emaciated, but still held the curves and breasts of a woman. Despite the heartbreaking circumstances, he felt some relief that he wasn't scaring some poor, frightened child.

"Please," Draco tried again. "I won't hurt you. I only want to help."

 _Why?_ He thought to himself as he stared at the frightened girl. Woman. He hadn't quite decided which it was yet. _Why do you want to help? You have yourself to think about._

And while that was true, he couldn't bring himself to turn his back on the girl who looked like she could literally die of fright.

She'd seemed to give up on her attempt to get away from him, and brought her skinny legs up to her chest, wrapping her frail arms around them in some attempt to hide herself. She kept her head down and surrounded by her curtain of tangled hair, and the only telltale sign that she was crying was from the teardrops falling on her knees. She began shivering, and he knew it wasn't just from the cold.

"Um…miss?" He hated how difficult she was making this for him. "Can you get up? If not I can try to carry…"

He trailed off as it was obvious the girl wasn't paying him any attention.

Draco sighed. How he wanted to give up and leave the girl to her own devices. He was about to get up, but his conscience got the better of him. No matter what his previous misdeeds were, he knew he'd never be able to live with himself if he left her alone.

"Okay…I'm going to find some food for you. Just hold on." He stood up and immediately began rummaging through the dumpster. He hated himself for not going into the Leaky Cauldron to buy her something fresh, but he knew that if he did, she'd bolt the moment he was out of sight.

When his fingers found the first thing that felt like food, he pulled it out and discovered a half eaten apple clutched in his hand. He went back to his previous position right outside the dumpster to find that the girl had not moved.

He held the apple out to her, hoping that she'd be able to smell it. Though far from appetizing, he was banking on her being hungry enough to want it anyway.

"Look what I've got for you. A nice, half-eaten apple. You can have it, but only if you come out."

Finally the girl lifted her head a fraction of an inch. Just enough for Draco to see a strikingly familiar pair of dark eyes latch on to the apple in his hand.

"That's it. Just come out of there and you can have it."

He hated talking down to her like this, but he didn't know what else to do. Short of just reaching in, grabbing her and pulling her out, he didn't know how else to get her to come with him.

"I promise I won't hurt you. All I want is to help. I promise."

He didn't know why the girl decided to trust him. Maybe she didn't really. Maybe her hunger and desperate were enough to make her go against her survival instincts. Whatever her motivations were, he silently thanked whatever diety still looked over them for her deciding to come out on her own.

Slowly, hesitantly, she crawled out from behind the dumpster, and as soon as she had done so, she grabbed the disgusting apple from his hands and began chewing.

And that was when he saw it.

A red 'M' marked on her left forearm. The mark of a Mudblood slave. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. Unfortunately she noticed where his eyes had traveled, and she immediately dropped the apple and made to go back to her former hideout.

Draco was too quick for her. He latched on to her arm, which he noticed too late was her left, and she immediately began to struggle in his vice-like grip.

"No. I promise I won't hurt you!" He exclaimed as he tried in vain to get her to settle down. But the girl did the opposite. She opened her mouth and let out the most desperate, terrified scream he'd ever heard anyone make. She screamed for one second, which was one second too long for his liking. He clamped a hand over her mouth, ignoring the pain that greeted him moments later as a sign that she'd bitten him.

"I'm going to take you home with me. I promise it's not what you think. I'm not going to hurt you or hand you over. I'm simply going to take you home and give you a safe place to sleep."

Her continuing struggles were his only indication that she didn't believe him. Not that he'd expected her to.

He sighed and whispered, "You're going to have to trust me."

And with that, knowing he was taking a very big gamble with his life for a mere Mudblood slave, he Disapparated back to his home with the girl still struggling in his arms.

Once they were in the living room of the moderate house he called home, he quickly deposited the girl on his sofa. She'd stopped struggling, and once she realized that she was out of his arms, she curled herself back up into the protective ball in which he'd found her and began whimpering.

"No. No, please. I can't go back. I c-can't," she sobbed into her knees. She rocked back and forth, and Draco could only watch, hating how helpless he felt. He continued to stare at her, knowing he was being rude, but unable to take his eyes off her. She evoked a sense of familiarity in him that he hadn't felt in ten years. Why did she seem so familiar to him? He knew he hadn't come across this slave before. As he visited other Death Eater homes, crossing paths with a slave was inevitable. Though he'd never be able to recognize one from the other as he'd paid very little attention to them in his career, he couldn't help but think that he would have remembered this one if he'd seen her before. And yet he knew he'd crossed paths with her before. But where..?

And then it hit him like a ton of bricks to the head. He took a step back from the suddenness of it, but he knew he was not wrong as he continued to stare upon her curled up form. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be. And yet he knew it to be true. How could he have missed it before? This wasn't just any Mudblood that he'd taken into his home.

This girl, this _woman,_ this Mudblood slave, was Hermione Granger.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes:** Wow! Thanks so much to those who reviewed and added this story to favorites and alerts! It means a lot. And thanks to _Honoria Granger_ who pointed out some little mistakes that I made in the first chapter.

Hopefully this chapter doesn't disappoint. Let me know what you think!

* * *

 _Chapter Two_

"Fuck!" Draco swore as he left the room. He couldn't deal with this. He had to get out of there. He needed to get as far away from this woman as he possibly could.

Why did this have to happen? Why did he have to go against his better judgment and help someone? And not just anyone, but _her?_ He did not need this. It had been hard enough keeping himself alive for the past ten years. Sometimes he felt as though he'd gotten by on nerve alone. How was he supposed to help her, this _mudblood,_ when he could barely help himself?

He didn't have to. The logical side of his brain screamed at him to get rid of her. This wasn't just any girl in need of help. This was Hermione Granger. Gryffindor Princess. Best friend to Potter and Weasley. The brains of their little operation. Royal pain in the ass during his years at Hogwarts. Why did it have to be her? He half expected someone to jump out at him and declare the events of the past hour as nothing but a sick joke.

He stumbled into the kitchen and slammed his fist into a wall. He immediately regretted it when a searing pain shot through his hand, and he realized too late that it was the hand Hermione had bitten earlier when he'd covered her mouth. "Fuck!" He yelled again, and slammed his already injured hand into the wall. What was the point of stopping? He was already screwed. He hit his hand with an open palm against the wall. Then again, and again, and again.

He didn't know how long he stood there, channeling his frustration into the wall, but finally he stopped and ran his uninjured hand through his blond hair. The rational part of him wanted to throw the girl out of the house. He didn't need the burden of keeping her. It would be easy to throw her out. She'd already proven that she couldn't put up much of a fight. He doubted that she'd last long out there. She'd no longer be a burden to him or anyone else.

But those wide brown eyes made him hesitate. Never, in all the years that he'd known her, had she looked at him like that. Like he could break her with a single flick of his wrist. It unnerved him more than he was willing to admit.

He didn't know how long he stayed in the kitchen. It could've been minutes, or days. It hardly mattered. He was already fucked. He might as well go all the way. He moved away from the abused wall and began rummaging through his cupboards for something to eat. The act reminded him that he needed to go shopping. He made a mental note to do so as soon as possible as he came up with some stale crackers, a few pieces of white bread, and a small box of raisins he didn't remember he had.

When he made his way back to the living room, he was both relieved and disappointed when he found her right where he'd left her. She hadn't moved out of the curled position on the sofa. If anything her arms were clasped even more tightly around her legs.

When she didn't move he cleared his throat, which seemed to remind her of just where she was. Her head shot up and once again Draco found himself staring into her wide brown eyes. He remembered the time when she would look at him with nothing but contempt. All trace of that was gone now, and all he saw now as he gazed into those eyes was fear; a deep, unending fear that unnerved him more than he cared to admit. Whoever this woman was, she wasn't the Hermione Granger he'd known at school. The Hermione Granger he knew would have already called him a name and possibly threatened him. She'd be fighting for her freedom, not cowering in terror at the very sight of him. What the hell had happened to her to make her like this?

"I, uh, brought you some food. Hopefully it's better than that disgusting apple," he said awkwardly, holding out the crackers, bread, and raisins he'd managed to find.

When she didn't make a move to take them, he took a step forward to place them on the coffee table in front of her, but was stopped from doing so as Hermione whimpered and moved as far away from him as she could get from her limited space.

Draco immediately froze. The last thing he needed was to make her flee. As much as he wanted to convince himself that he wouldn't care if she left, he knew the truth was that he would chase her down and he _really_ didn't want to go to the trouble. Just attempting to reassure her was taxing enough already.

"Hermione?" Her name was little more than a whisper on his lips, but he knew she heard him. She finally uncurled herself, but didn't leave her spot on the couch. The messy nest that was currently her hair fell away from her face, and her brow pinched together as she stared at him. For the first time since reuniting with her, this woman resembled the Hermione Granger he knew as her face twisted with anger.

The glimmer of hope he felt at seeing the real Hermione faded along with whatever emotion he'd managed to evoke out of her. The anger was gone just as quickly as it had come, replaced by the fear he was getting to know only too well.

"Hermione," he tried again, earning him no response. "I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I know it may seem hard to believe, but I only want to help."

He placed his offerings on the table and took two careful steps back, his hands held out in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "I know it isn't much, but this was all I have. I'll go out later for something a little more appetizing."

Hermione looked from the food and back to him, her brow furrowed in obvious suspicion. He suspected she was trying to figure out his motives. As a Mudblood slave, he knew she was shown little to no kindness, and whatever kindness had been offered to her had most likely been a trap to lure her into a dangerous situation. He'd heard his fellow Death Eaters boast about these tricks as though they'd been something to be proud of, and it had been all he could do not to punch them in the face.

But he knew he could not explain this to the emaciated woman cowering on his sofa. Any words of comfort he offered her at this point would only be met with wariness and distrust.

When she still made no move to take the food, he tried to reassure her once more, knowing his words would be in vain. "I know it's not much, but you're obviously hungry. I'm not going to take it away, if that's what you're worried about."

His words were met with silence, as he'd known they would. Still, he decided there was no harm in continuing to try.

"If you don't want the food, how about a shower? No offense, but you look like you could use one."

This much was true. He took in the state of her clothing for the first time. They weren't in much better shape than she was. Even from where he stood several feet away he could see the holes in her flimsy blue shirt and the rips in what were left of her filthy blue jeans. It was only when he registered the state of the lower half of her body that he realized she was barefoot. He didn't know why he was surprised. One of the first things Death Eaters did after branding slaves was taking away their footwear. It made it harder for them to escape.

Still she gave no indication that she'd heard his words. Apart from the few words she'd spoken when he'd first brought her to his home, she'd thus far remained silent.

He sighed. What was he supposed to do now? How could he help a woman who gave absolutely no sign that she wanted it? Letting his frustration get the better of him, he snapped at her, "If you don't want food or a shower, can you at least tell me what it is you do want? How am I supposed to help you if you don't at least give me a fucking clue?"

She shrank back at his tone, which he immediately regretted. Not that he was about to tell her that. Why should he apologize when she'd been nothing but uncooperative since the moment he'd found her? It was like talking to a wall. A very scared, broken wall.

When Hermione still said nothing, Draco let out a heavy, disgruntled sigh and stormed out of the room. Fuck this. He wasn't going to continue talking to her if she wasn't going to talk back. He'd settle for her usual aggravating know-it-all attitude at this point. He'd take anything to let him know that _someone_ was inside that defeated shell currently dirtying the space on his sofa.

He went down the hall into his bedroom, deciding he wasn't going to bother with dinner. Not that it mattered. He'd lost his appetite.

Draco changed out of his Death Eater robes and put on his usual pair of blue pajama bottoms. He was about to put on the white wife-beater he usually wore to bed when he remembered Hermione's current state. She obviously did not have a change of clothes, and if she elected to get out of her filthy rags she would need something to sleep in.

He took out his wand and muttered a quick spell to wash away his body odor from the wife-beater then found his spare pair of pajama bottoms. After taking several moments to collect himself he went back downstairs to the living room, hoping that this time she would take him up on his offer to help.

To his slight astonishment, when he reappeared in the living room he found the crackers, bread, and raisins he'd left on the coffee table gone, and Hermione in a new position on the sofa. She looked up at him with guilty eyes and immediately shrank back.

"S-Sorry," she muttered, turning her gaze from him.

"What are you sorry for?" He approached the sofa cautiously, all too aware of how she shrank back with every step he took. He kept a safe distance from her, not wanting to scare her any more than she already was.

"For…for m-making you angry."

The words were so alien to him, so utterly _un-_ Hermione, that he took a moment to appraise her fully. Was it possible that this defeated woman was not the know-it-all bookworm he'd known at Hogwarts? Could he have mistaken her identity and brought a stranger home instead?

But he knew he hadn't. She still had the same eyes, the same hair, albeit tangled and matted so that it appeared even bushier than it usually was. Her demeanor, though currently terrified and beaten-down, was the same. Underneath the ten years of obvious abuse and neglect she'd suffered at the hands of the closest people Draco had to friends, he could sense the same spirited girl he'd hated so much during his school years.

"Jesus," he muttered as he once again wrung his uninjured hand through his hair. It was a nervous habit he'd developed shortly after receiving the Dark Mark during his sixth year at Hogwarts. "I'm not angry at you. Only the situation."

Hermione muttered something, but it was too soft for him to hear. When he asked her to repeat herself she once again muttered, louder this time, "Same thing."

Draco sighed. This was going to be a long night. "No. It's not. If I were angry at you, you'd know. Don't you remember how we were at school? We hated each other and never missed an opportunity to let each other know."

Hermione shook her head, and it was though Draco hadn't spoken. "I promise I'll do better! I'll do whatever you ask of me! Just please don't hurt me."

"Haven't I already said I wouldn't? Fuck…" he trailed off, wanting to say more, but the wide brown eyes full of fear that was directed at him made him pause. Any further assurances would have to wait until later. Instead he held out the pajamas in her direction. She merely stared at them.

"Take them. I'll show you to your room then you can change."

When she still didn't take the pajamas he left them carefully on the floor in front of him.

"They'll be there when you're ready. I'm not going to wait around all night for you. Take them or don't, I really don't care. If you need me I'll be in the last room on the right."

He turned without bothering to wait for a reply and retreated back to his bedroom. He debated for a moment whether or not to close his door, but ultimately decided she might feel safer if he was shut in his room. Maybe if he kept out of sight she'd feel comfortable enough to change and go into the other bedroom. The house only had two rooms so it wouldn't take much guesswork on her part to figure out where she was to sleep.

He went into his bathroom to brush his teeth then laid down on his bed, feeling as though he'd been awake for days. His energy was shot and he felt as though he could sleep for weeks.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he looked at the clock on his nightstand. 3:52. When had he fallen asleep? He didn't even remember doing so.

Longing to return to unconsciousness, he reluctantly got out of bed, grabbed his wand from the nightstand, and opened his door as silently as possible.

The house was silent. Not so much as a curtain fluttered in the air conditioning that he left on at night. He always slept better when the house was chilly. He crept out of his room, feeling somewhat ridiculous for sneaking around in his own home. He checked the spare bedroom and saw that the door was closed, as it always was. He wasn't sure if that meant she'd gone in or not.

Hoping against hope that if she was in the room that she wouldn't get the wrong idea if he came in, he carefully opened the door and peered inside. He raised his wand and muttered, " _Lumos."_

The bed was empty. It was clear enough that Hermione hadn't heeded his earlier invitation. He wondered vaguely if she'd decided to leave. He wouldn't be surprised if she had. He still couldn't decide whether he'd be relieved or disappointed if he found her gone, but ultimately decided not to think about it as he ventured back down the hall and returned to the living room.

Hermione was right where he'd left her. She was curled up on the sofa still in the dirty clothes he'd found her in, her body curled as tightly around herself as it was possible to be. Her steady breathing told him she was asleep. At least he could be relieved about that much. He didn't know what he would have done if he'd found her awake and cowering in a corner somewhere.

Leaving the unused pajamas where he'd left them, he went to a cupboard in the hall and pulled out a spare blanket. It was one that had come with the house and smelled like stale air, but he figured it would do for the rest of the night.

Draco returned to the living room and draped the blanket around her small body. She wouldn't be able to hold in much heat since she had absolutely no muscle-mass or fat to speak of. He made sure the blanket covered as much of her body as possible then stepped back to get a good look at her. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

As he continued to look upon her sleeping body he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her during the past ten years. How had she managed to survive so long? What had happened to get her here? Where was her master? He hated that term but he didn't know what else to call the person who'd held her in captivity. Captor. That was the word. Hermione had no master. Not anymore, at least.

With one last look at the girl he'd brought back into his life, he retreated back to his room, closing the door as softly as he could behind him. He knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep with the events of the past eight or so hours weighing heavily on his mind. Instead he grabbed the comforter from his bed and sat in the stiff-backed chair he kept by the window and sat down, gazing out at the dark, desolate world he found himself in.

Would it ever change? Draco didn't know. All he knew was that he had a duty to protect himself, and the girl now in his care, as much as he was able. He would think about the consequences later. At that moment he just let himself have a small, temporary moment of peace.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes:** I know the characters may seem a little OOC right now, but that's just because of the circumstances they currently find themselves in. This is my longest chapter yet! I've also got the next two chapters written. I hope you read and enjoy!

* * *

 _Chapter Three_

The scream jolted Draco out of his dream and back into reality. The realization of where he was, as well as the memory of the previous night came back to him a moment later. He welcomed them as he'd welcomed the Dark Mark when it had first been branded on his skin.

He jumped to his feet and grabbed his wand from the spot where it had fallen on the floor. He must've dropped it from his lap after falling asleep in his chair by the window. He hurried down the hall and was immediately faced with a terrified Hermione, who was trying to squeeze between the sofa and the wall behind it. A moment later he realized why.

The picture he kept hanging over the mantel by the fire was vibrating loudly. It served as his alarm system whenever someone tried to use the Floo Network to enter his home. All the Death Eaters had one as a way of communicating to each other whenever one of them was about to visit.

It obviously held very bad memories for Hermione.

"Shit," Draco swore as he hurried over to his former schoolmate. He grabbed her upper arms and slid his hands into her armpits just before he dragged her away from her would-be hiding place.

Predictably, his actions only caused her to scream louder, and she struggled with all her might to get out of his vice-like grip.

"No! No, please!" Her screams were just as gut wrenching as they'd been last night. Draco didn't even bother trying to reassure her. He knew any comfort he tried to offer her would have no effect. As a Death Eater, he was probably held in the same terrifying regard as her former captor. Hermione continued to scream and plead as she tried to fight her way to freedom.

Draco was simply no match for her, however, and he didn't want to admit to himself just how easy it was for him to drag her pathetically small body into the spare bedroom.

"I'm really sorry, but for now you need to stay in here. I'll come back as soon as I can."

He didn't bother to wait for a reply before he closed the door and sealed it with a complicated locking spell so that a simple _Alohomora!_ could not break it. He half expected to hear kicking and screaming from Hermione's side of the door but all the fight seemed to have left her upon the closing of the door.

He hurried to his room to throw on the first shirt he saw, then returned to the living room, where he was greeted by another old schoolmate of his: Blaise Zabini.

He was currently sitting in the empty spot on the couch Hermione had vacated only moments before, casually polishing his wand as though he had every right to be there. He hardly spared Draco a glance as he entered the living room.

"Had a late night visitor, I see."

Draco's heart jumped to his throat. "What?"

Blaise used his wand to point at the spare set of pajamas that Draco had left out for Hermione. She hadn't touched them and he looked down at them with dawning horror. How could he have forgotten to move them? His brain scrambled to come up with some excuse, but his fellow Death Eater beat him to it.

"Either that or your house-elf was recently fired. And since I know you haven't had one of those in quite some time…" he trailed off and raised his brow suggestively.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was doing some laundry and I must've dropped them by mistake. What's it to you?" Draco hoped his nervousness wasn't as discernible as he thought it was. He longed to vanish them back to his room but he feared the act would only make Blaise even more suspicious than he already was.

"Nothing." Blaise shrugged, leaned back in his seat and went back to polishing his wand. "I guess I'm just trying to figure out why you left your post in the middle of your shift. I was supposed to relieve you at midnight, but you were already gone. Tom from the Leaky Cauldrom said he saw you leave around eight and didn't see you again."

Draco forced himself to meet Zabini's gaze head on. He had to pretend he had nothing to hide if Hermione was to remain undetected.

"That's not like you, Draco." Blaise's gaze softened, and Draco was reminded of their younger selves. They'd been on good enough terms that Draco once thought of him as a friend. Time and a war had had lasting effects on both of them, and he no longer knew what they were to each other.

"I was sick. I threw up in an alley and didn't have time to call in a replacement."

"You look well enough to me."

"It's amazing what a Pepper-Up Potion will do. You should try it sometime," Draco snapped, then immediately regretted it. The last thing he needed was to get on Zabini's bad side.

"Indeed. Why didn't you alert one of us to your condition? The Dark Lord won't like that you left Diagon Alley unsupervised. He might have to do some digging into your record, and it would be a shame for him to discover some recent rumors that have been circulating as of late."

"You mean the rumors that are unfounded and have no basis in fact?" Draco instantly countered.

"I wouldn't quite go that far. You _have_ refused slaves into your home for the past ten years. Why would a Pureblooded Death Eater do this if he weren't a blood traitor? Owning a slave is practically a right in the world we live in, and for you to expect to keep your status without owning one…well, it doesn't look very good, does it?"

"What exactly are you implying?"

Blaise shrugged, stood up, and finally pocketed his wand. He focused his attention directly on Draco for the first time since arriving in his home, and Draco fought hard not to punch him and demand that he leave at once.

"Only that your actions aren't quite as overlooked as you'd like to believe. Ever since your father's continuous mishaps and your mother's obvious disdain for the Dark Arts, what's left of your family has been looked into. Consider this a warning. You don't want to go around making mistakes just now."

"Is that so?" Draco gave his former friend one final appraising look, as though his warning had barely fazed him, then indicated the fireplace. "Thanks for dropping by. I always look forward to our little chats. Now if you don't mind, I need to see about some more potion. Somehow I seem to be feeling nauseated all of a sudden."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Blaise said as he grabbed some floo powder from the small pot above the fireplace.

The next moment he was gone.

Draco let himself feel the smallest sense of relief before gathering up the offending pajamas from the floor. He had half a mind to charge into the spare room and fling them at Hermione for the trouble she'd caused him.

But when he let himself into the room, the sight of her pushed any thoughts of retaliation out of his mind.

Hermione was curled up in a ball in the far corner of the room, as she always seemed to be, with tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She flinched violently at the sound of the door closing behind him. Draco didn't want to think about the implications that simple action made. With every step he took into the room, she shrank back that much further, until she was as pressed to the farthest wall from him as she could be without becoming a permanent fixture.

"It's okay," he said softly, feeling as though he were talking to a scared wild animal. Which, he thought disdainfully, was exactly what he was doing. "I'm just here to give these to you and see if you wanted breakfast."

He indicated the pajamas he still held and made very obvious gestures as he stepped forward to place them as carefully as he could on the bed. Her eyes kept track of his every move, the tears still leaking from them silently. At least she was no longer screaming.

"Do you want some breakfast? I can use the last of my food for that much. You may not know this about me, but I can whip up a mean omelet."

His small attempt at humor was overlooked, as he knew it would be. He had to try, though, to put her at ease. How else was she supposed to get comfortable here?

 _Since when was that my intention?_ He suddenly thought to himself. _Since when was I trying to make her comfortable here? Is this to be her home from now on?_

He didn't like the idea of permanently sharing his modest home with a Mudblood, especially _Granger_ of all people. But short of kicking her out, he didn't know what else he could do. Where else could she go? Potter and Weasley were dead. He didn't know about any of the other Weasleys, but he couldn't imagine they were still out there when the Death Eaters roamed every street and presided over every Wizarding shop in existence. There had been nine of them before the start of the war, and he knew that at least two of them were dead for sure. That left seven family members scrambling to survive, and in the ten years since Voldemort had taken over, he couldn't see how they'd managed to evade capture or death.

And what of Hermione's parents? Were they still out there? Draco had never given any thought to what happened to them and assumed they were dead. If life was difficult for wizards, pureblooded or not, life for Muggles must be downright impossible. He supposed Hermione was just as in the dark about their fates as he was. Ten years as a slave meant no news of the outside world. It seemed cruel to ask her about their fate.

When she gave no answer, Draco decided to leave her. It would do no good to push her when she was clearly not ready to leave the safety of the invisible wall she'd built around herself. "I'll just let you get settled for now. Come find me if you need anything."

Draco turned to leave the room, but was stopped by the two words spoken in the softest voice he'd ever heard from anyone.

" I'm sorry."

He paused then turned around to face her once more. "Come again?"

Hermione was shaking, and she'd loosened the grip she kept on the hands that were wrapped tightly around her legs. She refused to meet his gaze, but she took a steadying breath and said again, " I'm sorry."

"What for?" Draco longed to kneel in front of her and demand an explanation for why she was sorry, but refrained from doing so. He kept his feet firmly planted right where they were and decided he wasn't going to leave until she elaborated. To his astonishment it didn't take very long.

"I got you in trouble. I didn't mean to."

Her words were rough, as though it had been a while since she'd last spoken. She seemed determined to try, however, and that act alone gave Draco hope that perhaps all was not lost for this woman.

"The only person who got me in trouble was me. Do you understand? You didn't ask to be taken home with me. You didn't demand that I leave my post in the middle of my shift. It was my fault and I'll pay the bloody consequences. Not you."

She looked up and met his gaze for the first time since he'd stumbled upon her. Her wide brown eyes were so unsure, so full of fear that it caused his heart to contract painfully in his chest. She seemed to be searching for something from him, but he had no idea what she wanted. Certainly nothing she'd ever received from him in all her years with him at Hogwarts. He'd been nothing but a bully to her and her friends from the moment they'd met, so there couldn't possibly be anything she hoped to gain from staring into his eyes with a desperation that he'd never seen before on her narrow, dirty face.

"Do you want to come with me to the kitchen?"

Perhaps it was too much to hope for, but the few words she'd spoken, anguished and fearful though they were, had given him hope that this broken woman would become the Hermione Granger he was used to.

She turned away from him with something that he suspected was disappointment, and shook her head. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself once more and refused to look at him any longer.

"I'll be here if you need me. Try to get some more sleep."

After he closed the door gently behind him he ventured into the kitchen to make them both some breakfast. If she wouldn't come to the food he would bring the food to her. As much as he wanted to use it to lure her out of the bedroom, he knew it would be unfair of him to do so. It wasn't fair to deny her the nourishment she so desperately needed just to appease his loneliness and impatience.

He couldn't help feeling guilty as he got out the ingredients he needed for the omelets. Fortunately he'd misjudged the amount of food in his possession the previous night and had just enough to make breakfast for the two of them. He may not be directly responsible for the state that Granger was in, but the people he called colleagues and the closest things he had to friends were, and he was determined to fix the mess they made, if not just for her sake then for his own.

Soon he had two plates filled with ham and cheese omelets. He might have overdone it with the cheese, but he wasn't about to complain and he didn't think his houseguest would either.

He returned to the spare bedroom, the door to which was still closed, and knocked once. "Hermione? I'm going to come in. I brought breakfast."

When she made no reply he opened the door slowly and carefully with one hand, balancing the plates and forks he'd brought in the other. He stepped in, careful to keep his steps as exaggeratingly open and obvious as possible so that she could keep track of every move he made. He had no desire to scare her any more than she already was.

"I brought breakfast. Omelets as promised. I hope you like them because they're pretty much all I know how to make."

He thought he saw the smallest glimmer of a smile begin to form on her lips, but it disappeared just as quickly. He stifled a small sigh and held one of the plates out to her. She hesitated only for a moment before snatching the plate from his hand, clearly expecting him to change his mind and take it away. Even the thought of doing something so underhanded filled him with a rage that he found difficult to suppress. It was something he might have done in his younger days just to annoy someone. He'd never do it to intentionally break someone's spirit, as someone had clearly done to her.

He sat down on the opposite side of the room from Hermione and crossed his legs in order to rest the plate in his lap. Hermione looked alarmed and suspicious that he wasn't leaving her alone, but she didn't say anything. She didn't scream at him to get out or demand that he leave her alone. She just scrutinized him as she picked her omelet up with both hands and bit into it, completely disregarding the fork he'd given her.

She ate with such intensity and desperation that he wasn't completely sure what to make of it. It was clear from her gaunt frame that she'd been deprived of healthy portions of food for some time.

"You may want to slow down. If you don't you might make yourself sick."

But she paid him no heed as she continued to devour her omelet. He'd barely taken a bite out of his own before she'd finished hers. She set the plate carefully beside her and stared at his own with a longing that nearly did him in. He wanted to give his breakfast to her, but he knew if she ingested much more at this point, it would only cause her to throw it right back up.

His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when her face paled and she blanched in sudden horror. Before he'd fully registered what she was doing, she stood up and hurried out of the room with her left hand clamped over her mouth. As she passed him he had a clear look at the 'M' branded on her forearm. It filled his stomach with bile and he found he was no longer hungry. He set his plate and mostly untouched omelet aside and followed her.

She'd found the bathroom.

When he caught up with her he found her hunched over the toilet, heaving into the bowl, the very image of misery. Draco could only stare, unsure what to do for her. He finally settled on standing behind her and gently gathered her bushy mess of hair into his hands and held it up for her. It was the least he could do. And in her despair, she hadn't flinched away.

It seemed as though a hundred years had passed before she'd finally stopped heaving and sat back. Fresh tears were falling down her cheeks. She wiped the remnants of her mess with her hand and refused to meet his eye.

Draco couldn't have that.

He dropped her hair and knelt down to gather up a wad of toilet paper, which he used to wipe her mouth. It felt awful to do this for her when he knew perfectly well that the old Hermione Granger was more than capable of taking care of herself. However, it was painfully clear that this was not the old Hermione Granger.

When he finished he threw the toilet paper into the toilet, then flushed it and the sick away. They both took deep breaths and sat in silence for a while, unsure what to do next.

"I'm sorry."

It was the same phrase he'd heard from her all morning, but it still had the same effect on him as it did the first time she'd said it. He turned to look at her and found her staring intently at the tiled floor.

"I already told you that you don't have anything to be sorry for." To his horror the words came out harsher than he'd intended. He hated how she winced from him. It was the last thing he'd wanted.

"B-But I ate it too fast. Even after you t-told me n-not to."

"And I let you. I watched you devour that damn omelet and I didn't stop you. I knew what might happen, and I let you carry on. It's _my_ fault, understand? Not yours. None of this is your fault."

Her brow furrowed as she tried backing even further away from him. It was clear she didn't believe him. Draco knew she wouldn't no matter how many times he tried to assure her. He had a feeling actions would speak louder than words for her for a while.

He stood up and hovered over her. She shrank from him but stopped trying to push herself into the wall. Was that progress or not? He quickly decided that it was and held out his hand, hoping she'd get the message and take it.

But she did no such thing. She merely stared at it as though she expected it to slap her.

"If you don't take my hand I'm going to pick you up. I can't let you stay in here forever."

To his surprise she looked up at him and seemed to steel herself against a bracing attack. "Can you leave me for a moment? I need to use the toilet."

Her face blushed. Draco mentally berated himself for his foolishness. She'd been in his home for close to twelve hours and she had yet to go to the bathroom. How could he be so stupid as to overlook that?

"I'll give you as much time as you need. Please come out when you're done."

She gave no sign that she heard him. He sighed and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. As much as he wanted to wait right outside in case she needed him he knew she needed her privacy more.

He forced himself to wait in the living room. He tried sitting down, but he couldn't sit still. Instead he paced the room.

When Hermione hadn't emerged after twenty minutes he decided that he might as well check up on her. Surely no one needed twenty minutes in the bathroom?

She wasn't in the bathroom when he checked. For one wild moment Draco thought she'd finally decided to run before he remembered that she would have had to cross the living room in order to get to the front door. Which left the guest bedroom.

She had sat herself back in the furthest corner from the door, making herself as small as possible. Draco debated whether or not he should leave her alone, but decided that if she wanted him gone she would tell him so. He knew enough about Mudblood slaves to know they were left alone far too often.

"Do you want to try the other omelet? I'm not hungry, and you need to eat something. It's either this or more stale bread and I doubt you want that. If you take it slowly you'll probably keep it down this time."

She hesitated only for a moment before nodding once. He tried to hide his relief as he picked up his plate and gave it to her. She seemed to struggle not to shove this one in her mouth as she'd done the other, but she was careful to take small bites. Once the plate was empty he accepted it from her outstretched hand and watched her carefully for any sign that she was going to be sick again.

Fortunately she wasn't. The relief in her features was enough to make him smile, but he wiped it off his face when she stared at him in what he could only call annoyance.

"Do you want to go back to the living room? Or do you want to stay here? You could take a bath if you want. The pajamas from last night are still clean. You must want to get all that dirt and grime off you."

Hermione didn't give him any sign of understanding, though he knew she did. She'd spoken to him enough times for him to know that she was capable of understanding and speech. But she didn't seem to be inclined to do much more than sit in her corner. He waited, hovering awkwardly in case she decided to give him an answer, but her continued silence seemed to be answer enough.

"Okay. I'll just leave you alone for now. But if you change your mind please…"

"S-Stay with me?"

The words were so soft, so doubtful, that he wasn't sure he'd heard them at first. But one look into those brown eyes convinced him that he had heard her.

"If that's what you want."

She gave him one final appraising, skeptical look before she slowly stood up and crossed the room to the bed. He didn't know how she could possibly want to go back to bed in the grimy rags she wore, but he didn't dare voice this concern in case she changed her mind about wanting him there. Once she was in bed she pulled the covers up to her chin and looked up at him.

"Will you stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?"

He knew he shouldn't. This seemed to be the final test of his resolve. If he said yes it meant that she'd be staying here and his fate as blood traitor would be sealed.

But he found that he didn't care. His life had been lonely and torturous for the past ten years, but it was nothing compared to the hell she'd come from. If staying with her gave both of them some kind of reassurance that their dreary circumstances were slowly changing, he'd gladly do so. Even if it was with Hermione Granger, the girl he had once despised.

He conjured a chair with his wand, ignoring the spark of jealousy that fluttered in her eyes for a moment before disappearing, and sat with her in a heavy silence as the burdens of their world settled around them.


End file.
